


Waking Up Is The Hardest Part

by Mystic_reader



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-22
Updated: 2011-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 11:59:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystic_reader/pseuds/Mystic_reader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before Sam's high school graduation, Dean crosses a line he never meant to cross.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waking Up Is The Hardest Part

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Purequicksilver](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Purequicksilver).



> This was written for Purequicksilver for the spn_j2_xmas challenge. Based around one of her prompts. _Sam graduates from high school. Dean sitting in the audience on graduation day, maybe crying with how proud he is. Sam mentions him in his speech._

The night before Sam’s high school graduation, Dean gets Sam drunk. He knows it probably isn’t the best idea, considering the kid has to be up early the next morning, but Sam’s finally free—free to hunt, free to stay up late, free to do whatever the hell he wants—and that’s something worth celebrating, damn it.

And honestly, Dean misses his brother. He’d never admit it of course but he misses just hanging out like they used to. They haven’t had much time to do that lately, with Dean holding down a part-time job when he’s not hunting, and Sam throwing himself into his schoolwork. So when Dean gets home that night and finds Sam crashed out in the living room, he grabs a couple of beers from the fridge and tosses one to his brother.

He wakes up on the couch a few hours later, lying half on top of Sam, and they’re surrounded by empty beer bottles, bags of potato chips, and a half-empty bottle of Jack. An old episode of _Dukes Of Hazzard_ is playing on the TV, the only source of light in the room.

Dean’s not sure what woke him, a car horn maybe. He’s too drunk to focus enough on the clock on the wall so he has no idea what time it is.

His brother is warm and solid underneath him and Dean drops his head back down where it was resting on Sam’s chest.

He can remember other nights when he and Sam fell asleep on the couch together, only then, Sam was much smaller. He fit into Dean’s side perfectly, right under his arm, like the place was made for him.

Sam’s a lot bigger now and there’s barely enough room on the couch for the two of them, but it’s warm and comfortable and Dean really doesn’t want to move. The alcohol is making him feel sated and sleepy and he just wants to lie there for a few minutes and enjoy the feeling of Sam against him.

Almost unconsciously, Dean’s hands seek out Sam’s stomach, enjoying the feel of firm muscle through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. He doesn’t get to touch Sam often these days, not without the inevitable throat-clearing awkwardness.

At 18, Sammy isn’t so little anymore. He’s grown into a strong, beautiful young man, with broad shoulders and big hands. Just imagining what those hands could do makes Dean a little weak in the knees and every day he has to remind himself that Sam’s his brother, his _little_ brother, who he’s supposed to take care of, and that’s never going to change.

But right now, all rational thought seems to be tucked away under the warm blanket of alcohol. _Sam’s fast asleep_ , he thinks even as his hands continue their downward slide over his brother’s chest. Closing his eyes, he slips his fingers under the hem of Sam’s shirt, finding warm skin underneath, and scootches over so that he’s lying between his brother’s legs.

Dean’s cock is awake and pressed snug up against Sam’s thigh. He shifts his hips a bit. Just a little bit. He doesn’t want to wake Sam up. He just wants to release a little of the pressure, the ache building in his chest, but the urge to buck up hard and rub himself against his brother persists.

He moves his hips, sending a jolt of arousal up his spine as his cock drags against Sam’s thigh. He stifles a gasp too late and then suddenly Sam’s arm is tightening around him, fingers threading through Dean’s hair.

“Mmmmm....” Dean breathes out, arching into the touch and raising his head a bit to nuzzle contentedly against Sam’s throat. He nips the skin lightly at the nape of Sam’s neck, up to the curve of his ear.

By now Sam’s breathing in time with Dean and he can feel the quick rise and fall of his brother’s chest, the hot puff of air against his cheek. Lifting up, he grazes Sam’s hardness as he drags their bodies together. Dean can’t hold back a moan at the sensation, whole body shuddering as his brother’s hand tightens against his scalp.

Dean lifts his head. The light from the TV flickers across Sam’s face and his mouth is _right there_. Right in front of him. It would be so easy to just lean forward a little and kiss him like all those times he’s imagined.

So he does.

When their lips meet, Sam’s mouth opens on a gasp and Dean’s tongue darts forward. Sam lets out a whimper that goes straight to Dean’s cock.

He tastes like beer, potato chips, and _just plain Sam_ , which is so much better than Dean ever dreamed. His lips are moist and soft and Dean moans as his tongue glides inside, tangling with Sam’s.

He can feel Sam’s hands on his hip, holding tight as Dean ruts against him. Dean thrusts down one, twice, and then suddenly he’s coming, whole body going stiff as his orgasm shoots through him.

Dean pants into Sam’s mouth as he slowly comes down. Limbs growing heavy, he collapses on top of his brother in a lazy sprawl.

The last thing he registers before the pull of sleep drags him under is Sam’s hands dragging through his hair.  


****

  
It’s the bedroom alarm that wakes Dean the next morning and he throws his hand out, blindly searching to turn it off. He misses though, sending the clock flying off the nightstand and crashing to the floor.

He winces at the sound. The alarm is still going and he has no choice but to get up now if he’s going to turn it off.

Groaning, he drags himself up and out of bed. He grabs the clock off the floor and shuts off the alarm before sitting down on the edge of the bed and covering his face with his hands. The sun’s too bright, so he has to force himself up again to close the curtains.

Sam’s bed is empty and he has a brief moment of wondering where his brother is before he notices the piece of paper lying on the floor next to where the alarm clock had landed.

It’s a note from Sam, reminding Dean what time his graduation ceremony starts and letting him know he had to leave early to get ready.

It’s all starting to come back now. No wonder he feels like shit this morning. He must have gone a little overboard last night. He can barely remember Sam helping him back to their room.

It’s when he’s stripping down for a shower that the rest of the night comes back to him.

“Oh my God,” he blurts out, stumbling on his jeans which are tangled around his ankles. He catches himself on the toilet and then drops to his knees, puking up what was left in his stomach.

He kissed his brother. Fuck—he didn’t just kiss his brother, he put his hands on him. He got drunk and lost control and fucking molested his little brother. _Jesus Christ_  
.  
Another wave of nausea hits him and Dean dry heaves into the toilet.

Sam’s graduation ceremony starts in an hour. He’s the fuckin’ Salutation, so he’ll be giving the opening address. Dean promised he’d be there, but how can he go now, after what he did? Sam probably doesn’t even want to see him.

After downing practically a whole bottle of aspirin and spending an hour debating with himself, beating himself up, and wallowing in self-loathing, Dean arrives at the high school just in time to see Sam take the podium.

The place is packed so he finds a spot along the back wall. He watches, chest tightening painfully as Sam’s eyes scan the crowd, looking for him. His position is too far away for Sam to see him clearly, so he feels safe for now. Sam won’t even have to know he’s here, not unless he wants him to.

“First off, I’d like to say congratulations to the class of 2000!” The microphone carries Sam’s voice across the auditorium and the crowd around Dean erupts into enthusiastic cheers.

“I’m honored to be giving the Salutary today,” Sam continues. “This is a very special day for all of us and our families. My family moves around a lot. My Dad’s job takes him all over the place. Which is great because I’ve gotten to live all over the US and I’ve seen more than I ever thought possible.”

“The price however is that I don’t get to settle in very much because we’ll be leaving again soon. I haven’t been able to commit to any sports teams, build any solid friendships, or be consistent with my school work. I have trouble making myself feel at home in a town.”

Dean knows how true that is. For many years he watched Sam try to make friends, try to fit in. He always thought it was okay though, because they had each other. Dean liked that it was just the two of them. He never liked having to share his brother, and look what that lead to.

“But all the teachers and students here at George Washington High School went out of their way to make me feel welcome, to make me feel at home, and to help me catch up on my school work. I want to thank personally Mr. Davis, Mr. Reed, Mrs. Fraser and every other teacher who helped me get through all my new classes. I also want to thank my friends and classmates, but most of all I want to thank my big brother. My whole life my brother has always been there for me. No matter how hard things got, no matter how difficult I was, I always had his support. He took care of me when our dad couldn’t be there. He went without, so that I never had to, and he gave me the confidence to go after my dreams. So thank you, Dean. I want you to know how much you mean to me, and that I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for you.”

The crowd applauds and Dean’s heart stops. He wasn’t prepared for that, to hear Sam thank him. He doesn’t deserve anyone’s gratitude. Surely he couldn’t mean it, not after he fu—not after what he did.

He’s almost too busy freaking out to notice that Sam’s not done talking. “We all have to make choices in our lives. Sometimes we choose right, sometimes wrong. What’s important is that we use the results to grow and change.”

“E.E. Cummings once said: ‘It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.’ That’s what we must do, find the strength in ourselves to go after our dreams, and become who we are meant to be. There’s a whole world full of opportunities out there. Don’t look at graduation as the end. Look at it as the beginning.”

“Thank you for coming and good luck to you all!”

The audience whoops and cheers and Sam beams, cheeks dimpling, before pumping his fist in the air and exiting the stage.

Dean stays long enough to see Sam receive his diploma and then slips away from the crowd. He can’t face him, not after last night, not after that speech, and definitely not looking puffy-eyed from the remnants of his hangover because Dean certainly did _not_ just cry.

They leave town three days after Sam’s graduation and for the next three weeks, Dean does everything he can to avoid his brother. Each time Sam tries to corner him, to get him to talk, Dean makes an excuse, and runs. For the first time in years, he almost wishes Sam hadn’t graduated, that he was still in school, because now that Sam’s out, it’s nearly impossible to get away from him.

Dean fears he’s ruined his relationship with his brother forever, because how can you go back from something like this? What’s worse are those feelings that he gets every time he looks at Sam, those same feelings that got him in trouble in the first place, they don’t go away. They’re always there, right under the surface, suffocating him.

When Sam announces he’s leaving for California, that he got a full scholarship to Stanford and he’s taking it, Dean’s almost relieved. As much as he doesn’t want Sam to leave, as much as he’ll worry about him, he wants Sam safe, and Sam’s not safe around him. So many times over the years, it’s taken every ounce of his strength not to bend his baby brother over the nearest available surface and let him know who he belongs to, and he can’t take the chance that he’ll have another moment of weakness.

The tension between them is so thick, he’s not surprised when Sam leaves two months before his first semester even starts, saying he needs the extra time to find a job and an apartment.  


****

  
The apartment Sam rents is a little one bedroom four blocks away from campus, and Dean often finds himself looking for reasons to be near the area, just so he can check up on him surreptitiously.

Sam seems happy. Dean sees him outside the school, walking with friends, the friends he never had time to make before. He has the time now. He’s not going anywhere and Dean has to remind himself of that every time he sees his brother’s face and feels the soul-crushing need to beg his forgiveness, to plead with him to forget Dean’s transgression and come back to him.

He can’t do that. He remembers his brother’s graduation speech.

 _We all have to make choices in our lives. Sometimes we choose right, sometimes wrong. What’s important is that we use the results to grow and change._

Sam always wanted a normal life. This is his chance, and Dean’s not going to take that away from him.

That doesn’t stop him from watching from a distance though, always careful to stay out of sight. If it’s the only way he can have Sam in his life, he’ll take it.  


****

  
A year later, Sam’s moved into a new apartment, with a roommate this time. Scott, the roomie, seems like a nice kid. Dean checked him out of course. He’s from a good home, with both parents, a little brother and sister, and he’s at Stanford studying Economics. He’s probably teaching Sam all about how to be normal. They’ve even got a Christmas tree in the window. Dean can see it from the car. He watched Sam through the window as he plugged it in and opened the curtains wider so it was in plain view from the street.

Dean’s just settling back in his seat, with just the low hum of the Impala’s heater keeping him warm, when his phone rings. He’s expecting a call from his Dad, but when he looks down at the caller ID, it’s a number he doesn’t recognize.

“You gonna sit out there all night by yourself?” Sam asks. “It’s Christmas Eve. You should be with your family.”

 _Damn it..._

“Hey Sammy.” Dean says, letting out a heavy sigh. So much for being stealthy.

“Hey Dean.”

God, Dean missed his brother’s voice. He sounds exactly the same. Although he’s not sure why he thought he’d sound different. Sam might have a new life, but he’s still the same person. He’s still _Sam_.

“Come inside, Dean.”

Shaking his head, Dean looks up at the apartment window. He can see Sam standing there, next to the Christmas tree, phone to his ear.

“I don’t know, Sam. I don’t...I don’t think it’s such a good idea.”

“Well...I do. Please. I want you to come inside.”

He should say no. He should hang up the phone, put the car into gear, and get the hell out of there. But he can’t.

Sam meets him at the door.

“Where’s your roommate?” Dean asks, as he follows his brother into the living room. It’s small but comfortable. He was expecting cardboard boxes and egg crates. Instead he finds a few pieces of mismatched furniture, used, but nice, and an entertainment center that takes up nearly the entire right side of the room. On the far side of the room sits the Christmas tree, with its shiny bulbs and twinkling lights—the whole nine yards.

“Scott’s in Arkansas with his family,” Sam says, sitting down on the couch. He looks at Dean to join him there but Dean ignores him, turning toward the collection of Christmas cards taped to the wall. There’s at least two dozen of them. Dean scans the rows of cards, all from different people wishing Sam or Scott a Merry Christmas.

His feet shift nervously. He’s gone over in his head a million times all the things he’d like to say to Sam if he ever saw him again, everything from _I’m sorry I fucked up to I’m so damned proud of you, Sammy._ But now that he’s here, he can’t bring himself to speak.

He can feel Sam’s eyes on him and rubs the back of his neck anxiously. When he finally gets the nerve to turn and look at his brother, he finds Sam is standing right behind him.

He jumps a little at the surprise of Sam so close and laughs shakily at his reaction.

Sam takes a step back and smiles apprehensively.

“I’m glad you’re here, Dean.”

Sam sounds calm and sincere and it goes a long way at soothing Dean’s racing heart.

Stepping around his brother, Dean makes for the Christmas tree. He fingers the bulbs, the strands of garland, and says, “You weren’t even supposed to know I’m here. I must be losing my touch.”

“Yeah...why is that?”

“Why am I losing my touch?”

“No...” Sam says, exasperatedly, crossing his arms. “Why did you not want me to know you’re here?”

Dean sighs. This is why he shouldn’t have come in.

“It’s not that...I just...I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to see you?” Sam asks, pulling on Dean’s arm to make him look at him.

Dean throws him and incredulous look as he yanks his arm back.

“No...seriously, Dean. _You’re_ the one who avoided _me_ for weeks. _You’re_ the one who didn’t call, who didn’t write, who didn’t...didn't show up for my graduation.”

“Of course I was there.” Dean says, interrupting him.

“Wait...what?”

“I was at your graduation.”

Sam shakes his head like he can’t believe it. “No...I...I looked for you. I didn’t see you. Why...”

“Because I couldn’t face you! OK?”

“Couldn’t face me?”

Sam looks so honestly confused, Dean throws his hands up in exasperation and turns back to the tree. He can’t look at his brother if he’s going to make him say it.

“Because of what I did.” he says softly, fingers twisting in a strand of garland.

His stomach twists at the thought of that night. The way he violated his brother is permanently etched into his mind. He doesn’t know how Sam could ever forget.

“Dean...” Sam says, pulling on the sleeve of Dean’s jacket, trying to get him to look at him, but he continues to stare resolutely away. “Talk to me, Dean.

Damn it! Why is Sam being so difficult? Spinning angrily on his brother, Dean sputters, “I fucking kissed you, Sam! I...I fucking put my hands all over you...and I...I fucking molested you okay? I’m sorry...I’m so fucking sorry, Sam. I was drunk...but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”

The look of shocked bewilderment on his brother’s face worries Dean and for one heart stopping moment, he wonders if his recollection of that night is off—that maybe Sam hadn’t actually been awake for it after all. That he really doesn’t know what Dean is talking about. If that’s the case... _oh Jesus_...

He’s about to bolt... _FUCK_...he really shouldn’t have come here...when Sam grabs him by the arms, forstalling his escape.

“Is _that_ what this is all about?”

Shaking his head, he tries to pull away but Sam’s vice-like grip on his forearms tightens and he forces Dean into a bone-crushing hug. They’re so close Dean can feel Sam’s chest quiver. _Oh God, Sam is crying...no wait...is he laughing?_ Dean is about to protest that this is sooo not funny, when Sam pulls back to look Dean in the eyes.

“All this time...you thought. Really Dean. Believe me. If I hadn’t wanted it, I wouldn’t have kissed you back.”

Dean goes stock still and stares up at Sam incredulously.

Sam didn’t kiss him back...did he?

Sam nods his head, smirking. “I didn’t exactly push you off, Dean.” His expression softens and he steps in closer. He rests his hand on the crook of Dean’s neck and leans down until their foreheads are almost touching.

Dean’s head is a hurricane of thoughts and emotions. He remembers that night...the buzz of the alcohol and taste of Sam’s mouth. How fucking good it felt to be that close... _finally_...the way Sam’s hand tightened in his hair...how hard he was.

Dean’s heart starts to pound, blood pumping faster at the memory. Sam’s hand squeezes his neck as he takes another step closer. They’re close enough now to be breathing the same air and Dean’s hands dart out to steady himself, landing on Sam’s waist.

Sam noses down along the side of Dean’s face, nuzzles the soft skin at the side of his throat, pressing a soft kiss there.

Dean’s head spins. He can’t get enough air. His hands tighten on Sam’s hips. He never imagined...he never thought...

“Never came so hard in my life,” Sam whispers. “The way you felt...fuck Dean...the way you tasted. Thought I had to be dreaming. But when I didn’t see you at my graduation, I thought you regretted it and were repulsed by what we had done. Why else would you cut me out of your life?”

Dean can’t help but wince at the hurt his brother can’t quite keep out of his voice. Dean wants nothing more that to drag Sam closer and show him with his body, if not his words, how much he loves him, _wants_ him. But he can’t move, can’t seem to control his limbs.

Sam’s hands slide up to cup Dean’s face, soothing away the grimace.

“Never thought you might actually want me...not like I wanted you.”

"Wanted you so fucking bad, Sam. Always have.” Dean finally blurts out with a wrecked sounding growl.

Sam tilts his face up and covers Dean’s mouth in a rough kiss. Dean opens easily, tongue pushing past Sam’s lips and darting inside.

He wakes up on the couch a few hours later, lying half on top of Sam.

The flickering tree lights are casting shadows on the floor, the only source of light in the room.

Dean’s not sure what woke him, a car horn maybe. He’s too content to focus enough on the clock on the wall so he has no idea what time it is.

His brother is a warm and solid underneath him and Dean drops his head back down where it was resting on Sam’s chest.


End file.
